


Arise, O Soul

by gwyllgi



Series: Herc/Raleigh Bingo Challenge [14]
Category: Pacific Rim (2013)
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-08
Updated: 2014-11-08
Packaged: 2018-02-24 13:37:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,166
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2583317
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gwyllgi/pseuds/gwyllgi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Easy solutions are an elusive quarry.  What seems the easiest may prove far from it—sometimes, all you can do is keep trying.  Herc never was very good at giving up.  <i>It was three weeks of drinking himself to blackout before Herc admitted that it wasn't helping.</i></p><p>Written for the Herc/Raleigh Bingo Challenge prompt: Drinking</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Bingo Card

**Author's Note:**

> Title taken from a poem by James Benjamin Kenyon, _A Challenge_.
> 
> For lack of anywhere better to put it, the first chapter is my bingo card. Click on through to chapter 2 for the fic.


	2. Arise, O Soul

It was three weeks of drinking himself to blackout before Herc admitted that it wasn't helping.

Three weeks of vodka and whiskey and gin—hell, any liquor was fair game. Three weeks of emptied bottles tucked away in his quarters, forgotten glasses that littered every flat surface. Three weeks of bleary-eyed mornings with hangovers trampling his brain and twisting his guts, and regrets crushing his chest.

Three weeks with a hole in his mind, empty space that he couldn't help but worry like a loose tooth, a void that nothing left could fill.

It had been a conscious decision, the drinking. He hadn't eased into it, hadn't gone from one drink to three to six. No, he had set out to drink until he could stop thinking about everything that had happened, everyone that he'd lost.

It had been a trick, finding the necessary alcohol; Stacker had kept the 'dome dry. It was hardly fitting for the Marshal of the PPDC to make a beer run at two in the morning, so he'd found himself searching the facility for the inevitable bootlegs and secret stashes. He'd finally scored in the maintenance bay of Cherno Alpha: a mostly-full bottle had been tucked away in a mechanic's cart. Stacker would have disapproved, but Herc was only grateful.

He'd not quite emptied the bottle that first night, but it had been a near thing. He'd returned to his senses in the morning to find himself slumped over his desk, hand still closed around an empty glass, and ghosts still whispering in his mind.

He didn't let the lack of success deter him.

He solved his supply issue by throwing a party; they'd all deserved a celebration after all, and who'd know if he ordered a few extra cases for himself? He'd put in an appearance, mingled just long enough, then had sequestered himself again in his quarters, opened his liberated bottle of choice Russian vodka, and drunk himself blind.

He started awake the next morning from a dream about Chuck as a child, his hurry to greet Herc when he'd returned from a deployment. He hadn't been that eager for Herc's company since Angela had died; he'd only grown more and more distant despite the closeness that the Drift forced, and Herc found himself analyzing his memories, looking for where it all fell apart.

The pattern repeated itself over and over again: he'd drink himself unconscious to drown out the voices of his past, only to wake up with them front and center. He'd stumble through the day in a haze, perform adequately if not as well as the PPDC deserved, and dread the silence when no one else needed him as the Marshal. He'd ignore the concerned looks from those who knew him well enough to realize that he was going through the motions, avoid those who would have pressed him on his choices.

Three weeks, and he'd had enough.

It wasn't who he was, the drinking. He'd not survived his losses to lie down and give up now, not when he could still make a difference. He'd never been a quitter.

Chuck would've been disgusted by his behavior.

It was the morning he'd decided was the end of it on which Raleigh caught him leaving the science wing.

It smacked of an ambush, for all of Raleigh's casual approach and friendly greeting; the timing was too perfect, the location too well-suited for a private conversation. Herc eyed Raleigh's absent smile and sighed. "Can we get this over with?"

Raleigh blinked, expression taken aback barely long enough to be recognizable before it smoothed. "I—a few of us—noticed you're having a hard time, Marshal. I just... I guess I wanted to let you know that there are people who will listen, if you need it. There are people who understand."

Herc bit back a sharp retort; Raleigh was right, and snapping at him wouldn't change that. "People like you, huh?"

Raleigh watched him levelly for a long moment, then nodded. "I'm in a unique position to understand, and you were good to me. It's the least I can do." He looked to a side, then back at Herc with a gaze firm with resolve. "I don't want to see you end up on a wall."

"I'm not going anywhere, Raleigh." Herc hadn't known he was questioning that until he said it aloud, and he repeated it in his mind, tested the words to confirm their veracity.

He'd never been a quitter, and he wasn't going to start now.

Raleigh's smile was small, almost shy, and warm. "Glad to hear it, sir." He sobered then, a line creased between his eyes and—goddamn if those weren't puppy eyes. "Find me, if you need someone to listen, OK?"

Herc closed a hand around Raleigh's upper arm, squeezed in reassurance—though he wasn't certain if it was for Raleigh or himself. "I will."

* * *

It would've been a lie to say things got better overnight, but every day was a step forward. Gradually, people stopped handling Herc with kid gloves and he was able to sleep through the night, and, if his dreams weren't sweet, they at least didn't leave him hungover and hopeless.

Through it all, Raleigh was there.

It wasn't that he was underfoot, not at all. He gave Herc his space; he might not see Raleigh for two hours or two days. Whenever he stumbled, though, Raleigh seemed to know it, and he was there—even if he did nothing, his presence was a reassurance that Herc appreciated more than he could express.

It wasn't until almost two months after the Breach was sealed that Herc realized Raleigh might need him as much as he needed Raleigh.

It was late when Herc caught supper; the day had been eaten up by meeting after meeting, and Herc had been unable to escape long enough to eat anything more substantial than an energy bar. He raided the kitchen—long since closed down—and grabbed the makings of a sandwich, put it together with more care for quantity than quality, and snatched a pudding cup for good measure before he left. He nearly ran into Raleigh as he stepped through the door; only his Ranger reflexes kept his pudding cup from the floor.

"Sorry, Marshal," Raleigh said as he stepped aside, head ducked. He sounded tired, as tired as Herc felt, and Herc found himself stopping to study him. Raleigh looked rumpled and, when he lifted his head, exhausted; the bags under his eyes rivaled Herc's. "Didn't know you were here."

"No one did." Herc juggled his supper to be able to grab Raleigh's arm, all but frog-marched him into the kitchen. "I'm no chef, but I can make you a sandwich, at least."

Raleigh leaned against the prep table, looked down at its surface and flushed. "I can't let you do that, Marshal. I'll get it myself."

Herc set down his own meal as he fixed Raleigh with a flat look. "I'll make it an order, Ranger." When Raleigh's shoulders slumped, he nodded decisively. "Right." He quickly assembled a second sandwich, pushed the plate bearing it into Raleigh's hands. "You're welcome to join me. It's lonely eating on your own."

Raleigh set the plate down and picked at the bread crust. "It is," he agreed, then sighed. "Sorry to put you out, Marshal."

"Don't be daft." Herc retrieved his own sandwich, bit off a sizeable mouthful and chewed it as he eyed Raleigh thoughtfully. Once he'd swallowed, he leaned into Raleigh's space and prodded his chest. "When was the last time you let someone look after you?"

"Every day that ends with a 'y'." Raleigh smiled sheepishly. "Mako's on a campaign to make me sleep more."

Herc frowned. "You aren't sleeping?"

Raleigh shrugged, even as he continued to pick at the crust until an entire side of the sandwich had been denuded of it. "Haven't in years. That's OK, though; I kept in shape while I couldn't sleep."

"What am I going to do with you?" Herc realized he'd asked the question aloud when Raleigh chuckled softly.

"You, too, now?"

Herc sighed. "Mako might be trying to help, but are you letting her?" He stared hard at Raleigh until Raleigh looked away, and damned if that wasn't a guilty flush on his ears. "You talk a good game, Raleigh, but you can't help anyone unless you help yourself."

"I'm f—"

"Bullshit. Which is what you look like. You think I want to talk about it?" Herc rested a hand on Raleigh's shoulder, ignored his flinch. "I'll make you a deal. You want me to talk? I'll trade you: secret for secret."

Raleigh frowned, tensed beneath Herc's hand as though preparing for a fight, then abruptly deflated. "I guess it's only fair. Not tonight, though—OK?"

"OK. Now eat your damned sandwich."

* * *

Herc was surprised the first time Raleigh pushed a scrap of paper into his hands and hurried off as if the hounds of Hell were at his heels. On his way to a meeting with the growing K-science team, Herc didn't have time to read it, instead stuffed it in his pocket and forgot about it. Only when he was shedding his clothes in his quarters that night did he recall it and pull it out to read.

_I don't like crusts on my sandwiches. Yancy used to laugh at me for cutting them off. I learned to be less picky on the Wall, but I still don't like them._

Herc reread it, then set it thoughtfully on his desk. As far as secrets went, it wasn't much of one, it a deal was a deal. Before he could change his mind, he pulled out a piece of paper and wrote his own.

_I got Max for Chuck when he entered the academy. I thought he might make Chuck less angry. Chuck would barely even look at him for the first month, until Max got sick. He nursed him back to health, then pretended like he'd never ignored him. Bit of a tit, but he loved that dog._

He passed the paper to Raleigh with some meeting notes the next day, then found another stuffed into his roster.

_I was interested in a Jaegerfly once, but Yancy got her first. I was so mad when I found out. We failed a sim and beat the crap out of each other before Marshal Pentecost stepped in. Looking back, it was so stupid. He was worth a thousand of her._

It was as though a floodgate had opened; they traded confessions every time that saw each other.

_Chuck was so excited when we got a new pair of boots—custom-made in gratitude for all we'd done for Oz, or something, I forget. He bitched about getting the same as me, but he practically lived in those things. I still have them. Don't know what to do with them._

_I used to switch Yancy's shirts out for a smaller size, then tell him he was getting fat. He'd just shrug and wear that small shirt like it was nothing. It wasn't, I guess. He had to have known what I was doing, but he never said a word, just kept wearing those shirts._

_Chuck had an imaginary friend named Squiggles. He sent him with me once when I was deployed. It was a rough tour, and, when I got home, Chuck told me I had to go to Squiggles' funeral, because he'd died making sure I made it home safe. We had a grave for Squiggles in our backyard, tombstone and all. I wonder if it's still there._

_Yancy was always the better one. I had to haul ass to keep up, when he was barely trying. After he died, I felt like I should be apologizing to everyone because I was the one who'd survived, not the good one. He wouldn't have run away. He wouldn't have given up. I'm ashamed of myself._

_I was a shit father. Hardly ever around and, when I was, too busy to spend time with my son. He was so attached to Angela. It hit him hard when she died. I wonder what he would've been like if it weren't for the kaiju—probably in uni for something I'd never understand, breaking hearts left and right. He always had more than his fair share of groupies, but he never cared about them. Said they were a distraction. I wish he'd been able to experience more of a normal life._

_Yancy was always there for me. He stood up for me when Mom didn't want to let me cut my hair. She liked a Goldilocks look. He found me when I got lost in Paris, and Madrid, and London. When I told him I was bi, he just looked at me and said that I hoped I was ready for twice the disappointment. He bought me condoms when I had my first boyfriend, snuck me beer when I got shot down, pet my head and told me I was pretty whenever I broke up with someone. He was kind of an ass, really, but I knew he loved me, even before the Drift. When he died, I didn't have anyone. I expected to die on the Wall. I **wanted** to. Still do, sometimes._

_Goddammmit, Raleigh. The next time you wish you were dead, you find me. Or Mako. Or, fuck, anyone. We can be as touchy-feely as you need, or I can kick your ass until all you can think about is how pretty your bruises are._

_That won't be necessary. And Mako would beat you to it, anyway. Have you seen her when she's mad? Scary._

_She learned from the best. Stacker was good at a calm front, but he had a temper. He could shut you down faster than ice melts in a volcano._

_I remember. You two were close, weren't you?_

_You could say that. Stacker was a very private man, kept a lot of things from even me. He was a good man, too—deserved better than he got, but he died on his own terms. A slow decline wasn't Stacker._

_You piloted Mark-1s, too, didn't you? No adverse side effects?_

_You worried about me, Raleigh? My last check-up was clear. I got lucky._

_Was that a pun?_

_What?_

_You got lucky. Lucky Seven. You know? That Jaeger you used to pilot?_

_Smart ass. Maybe that was it, at that. I loved that old Jaeger._

_Yeah, she was a good one. Might have had something to do with her pilot._

_Yeah, nah. Scott wasn't cut out for piloting, in the end. I'm not sure how he made it as long as he did._

_You know I meant you. Don't be dense._

_One great pilot doesn't make a good team. You know as well as anyone that the Drift isn't a magic wand._

_Take the damned compliment, Herc._

_Fine. Thank you, Raleigh, for having such an unreasonably high opinion of me._

"It's not unreasonable, you know."

Herc looked up from requisition forms to find Raleigh hovering at the door of his office, mouth tightened in a stubborn line. "What's that?"

"My opinion of you." Raleigh stared at his own hand as he flexed it at his side. "You've earned it."

Herc sighed and rose from behind his desk, circled it to lean his hip against the far side as he studied Raleigh. "We're still on this?" he finally asked when it became apparent that Raleigh was not going to be expanding on it. "I don't need a cheerleader, Raleigh."

"It's not cheerleading, it's... it just is." Raleigh paced toward Herc as his frown deepened. "You know you're a damned good pilot."

"I was. Now, I'm just a paper pusher. Being a soldier is all I know. What the hell do I know about maintenance and operating costs and personnel management? I was never cut—" He cut off when Raleigh poked a finger in his chest.

"That's why you hire people who know that stuff. You don't have to carry the entire PPDC on your own; there are people who want to help you." Raleigh poked his chest again, ignored it when Herc swatted his hand away. "You don't have to be Marshal Pentecost."

Herc grabbed Raleigh's wrist, tightened his fingers around it as Raleigh tensed. "You don't know me, Raleigh, not really. A few anecdotes don't make us friends."

"You're not him. Is _that_ why you drank?"

Herc released Raleigh as though he'd been burned, dropped his hands to tightly grip the edge of his desk. "Fuck off."

Raleigh edged closer, eyes locked with Herc's. "Want to hit me? Go on—hit me."

"Fucking hell, Raleigh. You _want_ me to?" Herc's grip tightened until he imagined he could hear the metal groaning in protest. "What the fuck would that help?"

Raleigh's eyes narrowed as he crowded into Herc, so close Herc could feel Raleigh's breath on his cheek. "You're a man of action, aren't you? So act. H—"

It was one way to shut Raleigh up. Perhaps—probably—not the best way, but effective nonetheless. Raleigh's mouth was slack against his, blue eyes wide with shock, and he jerked when Herc licked his lower lip. He might have pulled away, but Herc released his death grip on the desk to wind his fingers through Raleigh's hair instead, held him firmly as he pressed his advantage and invaded Raleigh's mouth.

When Herc finally released him, Raleigh slumped, reached past Herc to steady himself on the desk. "What...?" He looked at Herc with such confusion that Herc found himself torn between amusement and guilt. "What the hell was that?"

Amusement won out. "It's been that long for you, has it? Or did the condoms from your brother never see any use?"

Raleigh flushed and grabbed the front of Herc's shirt, tugged hard until they were nose to nose. "Jackass," he said, low and growling, but there was no anger in his eyes. "Bet it's been longer for you. You're awfully rusty."

"Rusty, huh." Herc tilted his head, smirked when Raleigh did the same. He could feel Raleigh's breath against his lips, short and sharp. "Know the best way to get rid of—"

Raleigh soothed Herc's nipped lip with a lap of his tongue, then pulled away—Herc let him go this time. "I might have some ideas." He turned from Herc, paused half-way through the motion. "I prefer your concept of action," he murmured, then left the office as Herc watched him go.

Whatever that had been, it sure as hell beat drinking. As Herc settled behind his desk again, he found himself looking forward to the next day for the first time since—hell, since long before Pitfall. He'd forgotten what it felt like to feel alive, hopeful, to not dread the grind of days. If one kiss did that—well, he would have no complaints if Raleigh was willing to explore the possibilities.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks as always to [sorrowfulcheese](http://archiveofourown.org/users/sorrowfulcheese) for the super beta. Any lingering errors are mine, naturally.


End file.
